


crown of stars

by fitzefitcher



Series: one bright moment [1]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: F/M, Pining, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 04:49:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3195908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitzefitcher/pseuds/fitzefitcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She pauses upon seeing the worry furrowing his brow, long enough that snowflakes begin to land in her hair and stick. It looks a little like a crown of tiny, white stars, and when she looks him in the face again, cheeks and lips rosy from the cold and blue eyes bright and sharp, his breath hitches, catches in his throat and stays there.</p><p>Thrall doesn't tell her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	crown of stars

**Author's Note:**

> from a prompt on tumblr that I decided to add to my dk au because reasons

It’s surprisingly simple to sneak away from the fairgrounds.

With both of them covered up from head to toe to keep warm and his hand in hers as the two of them wander away, it’s easy enough to pass by undetected, easy enough for him to pretend that his hands are shaking because they’re cold, even though his fingers are wrapped around hers and throbbing with warmth.

"Are you sure about this?" Thrall asks when they climb over the next snow drift. He didn’t actively decide to say it; it just sort of fell out of his mouth like it had been waiting there to be said. He had been avoiding thinking about it, but apparently that didn’t stop it from inserting itself back into his thoughts the first chance it could get. Jaina, after checking that they were out of sight from the fairgrounds, takes her face cover down and gives him an odd look.

"What, about this?" she asks, gesturing towards the wastes around them. "Because it’s a little late for that," she laughs. "We’re already here."

"No, I meant," he starts, removing his hood as well. "I meant about the Forge of Souls." She blinks at him, eyes flitting away from his.

"Ah. That," she replies, a sardonic smile creeping onto her face. She shrugs. "Well, I’m as sure as I’ll ever be."

She pauses upon seeing the worry furrowing his brow, long enough that snowflakes begin to land in her hair and stick. It looks a little like a crown of tiny, white stars, and when she looks him in the face again, cheeks and lips rosy from the cold and blue eyes bright and sharp, his breath hitches, catches in his throat and stays there.

"That’s not really all that encouraging," he manages to say after a moment. Manages to smirk, too, however weak it might be.

"Well, it’s not as if I’ll be going in by myself," she points out. "And we’re not _trying_ to find Arthas. It’s just a scouting mission.” She looks a little faraway as she says this, however, and Thrall isn’t sure if he trusts her words. He trusts Jaina just fine, yes, but hearing her say that just makes him fear all the more that something could go wrong, that by saying this, it’s being guaranteed to. He’s just. He’s just not sure how he’s going to be able to deal with that.

"I’ll be fine," she asserts placatingly, patting him on the arm. It’s awkward and a little unsure, like she’s lying.

"If you’re sure," he allows, putting his hood back up to protect against the blast of cold wind sweeping past them. Jaina jerks at the stinging gale, and quickly curl’s against Thrall’s larger form, using him as a buffer against the wind. Without even thinking, his arms snap into place around her waist, _like she’s supposed to be there_ , a flyaway thought says before he shoves it away. He shields her against the wind the best he can, her head tucked against his collarbone, and hopes dearly that her ear pressed against him doesn’t hear his heart beating hard against his ribs.

Idly, he’d been thinking about telling her about this, the sort of effect she has on him, before she left in case anything happened, but. He doesn’t really want to think about what happens if she doesn’t come back, or worse. He doesn’t want this admission to be a death sentence.

Blocked off from the wind, he can look down at the top of her head and see the little wreathe of snowflakes that has formed, more noticeable than before. It still manages to look like bright little stars, congregating and forming a crown atop her head. _It’s supposed to be there_ , he thinks, and swallows around his heart lodged in his throat.

It’s probably better that she doesn’t know.


End file.
